Cactus

The symmetry of two faces in the mirror staring out at one another. The lines drawn back and forth connecting December and January, yesterday and today. The losses piling up in the laundry room. The way we shook hands when we first met. The pool I fell into as a child. The roses strewn about our wedding bed. The yellow-orange fungus devouring slowly our souls. The lids we looked under to find each other. The yelling overheard at the bedroom door. The light fixture that broke and fell when she died. The cactus that dried up in the rainforest.